Wanna talk about it?
by qwertysweetea
Summary: Jones watched Dan from behind his decks, lay on his back smoking one after another between mouthfuls of whiskey. Whatever he'd been through had really pushed him over the edge. So he toned down the music a few and headed towards the sofa, sitting down on the arm. Warnings listed inside.


**Warning:** Lots of smoking, glamorised smoking, drinking, implied past drug use, implied past prostitution.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Nathan Barley or any characters, places or plots associated with Charlie Brooker and Chris Morris, or BBC Channel 4. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction!

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Just how he'd managed to get Dan to confide in him at all, he wasn't sure. The man was a pro at keeping things against his chest, even when it became too much for him to bottle up anymore. He'd been cracking for days now, obviously so, so God knows how long it had been bubbling under the surface.

Jones watched him from his decks as Dan lay on his back, cigarette to his lips and other hand rolling another, ready to make the swap when he'd finished the few final puffs. In the dull light it looked like he was cringing every time he brought it to his lips but he could have been wrong. He _hoped_ he was wrong.

The cigarette burnt out, he made the switch and in fatigue rubbed his face absentmindedly and then he cringed again, and shuddered both visibly and vocally. Whatever he'd been through today had pushed him over the edge of whatever cliff he'd been hanging onto. Probably something to do with that asshat who ran the website. Definitely something to do with an idiot, in one form or another.

He had already decided before he toned down the music a few and headed towards the sofa that he wasn't going to give him the "I can sense something wrong" bollocks people give when they're trying to jam their noses into private business. He wasn't that guy and he wasn't going to be that guy, but as long as they were friends he was gonna make sure that Dan was reminded. He sat down on the arm, knocking of Dan's feet off in the process.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

Okay, so he could have waited for Dan to get a few more mouthfuls into the bottle of whiskey he was nursing before he'd attempted. He slipped down the arm onto the cushions as his roommate sat up.

"Is Claire home?" He muttered, seemingly to himself.

Whatever had happened, Claire was going to find out about it whether she heard this convocation or not, and when she found out about it Nathan was sure to. Jones understood, without the need for an explanation, how important those few hours or days would be.

Jones shrugged, launching a shoe at her bedroom door which hit with an echoing thud despite the pounding techno, and was followed by an exceptionally loud "Ay!". Both waited; Dan leaning into the arm of the chair and Jones leaning into Dan as they anticipated the gale of Northern fury to break in the door.

A few more moments passed and nothing happened. Dan relaxed back into his seat, bring the bottle back to his lips for several gulps in quick succession.

Waiting patiently (or more, as patiently as he could muster), Jones busied himself with lighting his own cigarette and tapping nonsensical rhythms to the mash of sounds droning on in the background, watching Dan with sly glances the other was too preoccupied to notice.

He changed his mind the first time he opened his mouth to speak, and stubbing out his own cigarette motioned for a drag of Jones. His mind changed quickly then also. His hand raised to take it, pausing his eyes flicked between the cigarette and his hand before finally dropping it with a discontented sigh.

So it was that bad, huh? He thought to himself. Sighing deeply he said again "Wanna talk about it?" only taking his eyes off him to relight his cigarette.

He didn't answer right away, though he gave Jones enough to know he should expect one, once he found his bearings, that was. He was itching for another drag, eyes slicking frantically between Jones lips and hands like he was clinging to the hope that the next drag would be the one to calm his raging thoughts, or knock him off. At this point, he was sure Dan would be finding the prospect of either one desirable.

The unspoken request lingered for a little before Jones gave in with a smile, and removed it from his lips to press it to Dan's. While he was distracted he slid the bottle, now only half-full from Dan's reckless drinking, from his grip and took a swig.

"You ever do something for your job that you…" He sighed out the smoke "…that you knew you would loath yourself for?"

Ah, so that was it. Jonny punctuation mark was the one pushing him into doing nasty shit for the magazine, or maybe it was just for laughs, so he could joke with the other morons he worked with about what he'd managed to get Dan to do.

That made it a little worse somehow. He'd have been a little more settled with it if he had made his own regrettable decisions, taught himself a lesson about limitations and all that crap they'd had forced onto them as kids about self-respect, or whatever. It'd be easier to handle that way. Less like prostitution and more like the dark corner of your life you're glad to be out of.

He allowed it to rest between them for a while, scared to open his mouth while the anger bounded around inside him. So he looked away briefly, balled his free fists into his jeans and took a few controlled breaths before he turned back to him.

"Y'know, before I got proper into my DJing and got this place, I did some pretty messed up stuff. For money for the… well." He sniffed heavy and rubbing under his nose, unable to completely bring himself to say it out loud.

Dan looked at him with eyes slightly glazed with the alcohol and smirk gracing only a corner of his lips, and snorted disbelievingly at Jones. "Did you now?"

"Yeah." He replied earnestly, the seriousness of it catching Dan off-guard. "I did."

"So… you've…?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

With voice raw, Dan replied "How did you…" He paused to swallow thickly and sooth away some of the anxiety "…stop feeling the repulsion?"

He was about to reply when Dan continued-

"It's like there's this weight that won't wash off. I feel…"

"…sticky." Jones stepped in where the other struggled.

Dan squirming in his seat in the discomfort the words caused and Jones, made uncomfortable in turn by the pain he caused his friend, raised the cigarette to his lips for him, waiting for him to take a long drag before putting it to his own.

Dan watched him for an answer. Any answer.

"A couple of showers and it'll fade, the germy, sticky feeling. You'll find yourself thinking about it for a while. It's just gonna be there and it's horrible, but that'll go too. Eventually. It'll come back once in a while but instead of that gutting shame it'll feel more like a cautionary numbness. Then… you'll gradually replace it with other stuff. Forget about it for the most part."

Dan signalled for another drag and Jones raised it to his lips again, watching a little too intently as his lips closed around it and his cheeks hollowed. He blew the smoke threw his nose and sighed, a little discontented as Jones pulled his hand away.

"I guess if we can pull a silver lining out of bugger all, it's that you get to replace it with good stuff."

"Don't feel like that gonna happen."

"Well I'm just gonna have to make sure it does." He gave a sad smile, and pressed his fingers against Dan's lips again without taking his own drag.

He smiled back, if only half-heartedly as he sucked in.

"You wouldn't be smiling if you knew where these hands had been." Jones warned softly, stubbing it out as he took another swig from the bottle.

"Thanks." He uttered after a few more moment's silence, passing the bottle between them.

Jones shrugged, eyes trailing from Dan's down to the hand he rested on the arm of the sofa. He reached over, almost absentmindedly, to claim it. He expected him to grimace and pull away, but he was surprisingly ready for it when he attempted. He only held it tighter. Patches of eczema from the excessive scrubbing with soup and sanitizer rubbed against the softness of his hands but he knew Dan couldn't feel it at all right now.

He laced their fingers hard and raised it to his lips.

"Don't." Dan said, almost a beg. Almost but not quite, so he smiled in reply and placed an open mouthed kiss on his knuckles. He relayed to himself, taking in Dan's horrified expression that he wasn't letting go until they were at least a little bit sober.

"You're clean." He promised, kissing the join between their thumbs. "You're okay."

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Thanks for reading!


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